


Corruption At Its Finest

by DanielVanDerLinde



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Español | Spanish, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fights, Flirting, Italiano | Italian, Kidnapping, POV Original Character, POV Second Person, Robbery, Slapping, Slurs, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22234807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanielVanDerLinde/pseuds/DanielVanDerLinde
Summary: After a robbery in Saint Denis falters, the gang ends up in possession of an esteemed and sheltered young lady named Maria Ferrari, who comes from MONEH. Forever being the man with the plan, Dutch decides to utilize her for ransom and other...things, but he's not the only one.In truth, this whole work is a charade for the members of The Van der Linde Gang to get some action, but I felt like I needed to "wine and dine" my original character first. Hence, the "plot." I'll be updating warnings and tags as necessary.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Dutch van der Linde & Original Female Character(s), Dutch van der Linde/Original Female Character(s), Javier Escuella & Original Female Character(s), Javier Escuella/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	1. Home Invasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I wrote this when I couldn't sleep the other night. It's my second work on here and much (much) different from the other one.

They came like a sickness in the night.

Silent.

Deadly.

Or so it seemed.

* * *

After an entire afternoon and evening of obedience lessons, the sound of rain on the roof had lulled you to sleep. Because your mother was gone and you had no brother to control you, you were a guest at your uncle's grand house while your father was away on business for the rest of the year. You were to learn some final etiquette and scholarly things from an esteemed tutor, chosen by your uncle, before you father was to marry you off as well. The wedding would be this upcoming spring.

Although you were not exactly thrilled about the idea, you knew this was the way things were. You father had prepared you to be a wife and take care of the home. You had spent countless hours learning reading, writing, and wifely responsibilities such as knitting and cooking from various tutors hired on your behalf. You had accepted your fate. You only hoped your husband that your father would choose would be young rather than old.

* * *

Before you could even scream, something clamped down over your mouth. You bit down hard only to taste leather. A second gloved hand grabbed you from your bed and held your throat as if threatening to strangle you.

“We ain’t here to hurt you, ma’am,” a rough voice whispered harshly into your ear. “But if you try anything like that again, you are gonna wish you was dead. Understand?”

A scream was trapped in your throat as terror ripped through you. Surely, a man who would sneak into your uncle’s house under the cover of darkness and take you from your bed had anything other than good intentions. Of all the learning you had done over the years, nothing prepared you for this.

“Do you understand, girl?” The voice became harsher. You felt his hot breath on the side of your neck. He shook you when you did not respond. "Do you understand?"

You nodded your head. The room was too dark to see anything. All you knew was the man had you facing away from him with a gloved hand at your throat and the other on your mouth.

“Anybody else here besides the old man downstairs?”

Panic stilled you.

"Girl, is there anyone else--"

You shook your head. Your heart felt as though it would burst from the fear and anxiety.

“You sure about that are ya?”

You nodded again. Your mind was racing for a way out of this situation to no avail. Desperately, you hoped your uncle would come save you.

There was a loud crack followed by several raised voices, more loud cracks, and then silence.

The man that was restraining you made a displeased sound and cursed. Something must have went wrong, you thought. You really hoped your uncle was all right, but dread surfaced, convincing you otherwise.

You were so worked up, you thought you would surely be sick.

The man dragged you out into the dark hall. He removed his hand from your mouth. His other arm restrained you around your shoulders. Something cold and metal was placed on the side of your neck. It clicked.

“If you so as much move without me telling you, I’ll blow your goddamn brains out,” the man growled as he moved you toward the stairs.

You complied wordlessly as you were too terrified to speak.

“Mister M!” A booming voice called out. “Come here now!”

Again, the man restraining you made a displeased sound. He all but pushed you down the stairs as he navigated his way toward several angered voices.

A small light flickered as you were dragged to the grand foyer. You were able to make out three additional silhouettes. All of them had their faces concealed by fabric.

“What's this, _Señor_ M?” The man's voice was softer than the others , but his accent was strange. Obviously, he was asking about you.

You felt him shrug. "What the hell happened down here?” The one holding you, Mister M, moved forward closer to the light where the other three stood.

“ _No lo sé_.” The other mumbled in response.

“Let's go, boys!” The loud voice that summoned Mister M downstairs exclaimed.

“What--?” Mister M started.

“Mister W seems to have quite literally jumped the gun.”

“Hey!” A different voice exclaimed.

“What’s done is done. We gotta go, boys. And quick!”

“What about her?” Mister M asked.

“Bring her with! After all that noise, the law won't be far off!”

The next few moments were a blur. You were certain that your uncle was dead. Surely, that had been what all that racket was about. Obviously, these men were bad and now they were taking you with them.

* * *

When your wits came back to you, you realized you were being pulled up onto something firm and wet. You soon discovered it to be a horse. You'd never been on one before. The closest you ever came to it was riding as a passenger in a stage coach.

It was still raining hard. Your night clothes became soaked within minutes. You weren’t sure if you were trembling from the terror of being stolen from your uncle's home in the middle of the night or from the chill of being soaked to the bone.

Before you could protest, the beast took off. You gripped the stranger in front of you as tightly as you could.

“Remember what I said, girl,” Mister M warned over his shoulder as you gripped his jacket.

You made a weak noise in compliance.

“Don’t do anything stupid and we won’t do anything unkind.” A new voice said from somewhere to the right. You cringed at the thought of them killing you...or worse.

The sound of many hurried hoof beats filled your ears and drowned out your thoughts.

You had no idea how these men could navigate in the dark. The moon barely provided light and the rain clouded your vision. You continued to hold tightly to the man in front of you as you were afraid you may fall from the horse and break your neck.

“We're bad men,” Mister M told you. “Best you do as you're told.”

When had you started crying? You didn’t know. You made another sound of compliance as you silently sobbed.

* * *

What felt like hours later, the horses came to an abrupt stop. Mister M pulled you down off of the horse and dragged you over to the man that seemed to have given orders earlier. You strained your eyes in an attempt to see anything, but between your tears and the dark, you could not make anything out.

“Where do you want her?” Mister M asked.

“Upstairs. The big room.”

“After how things been, you-uh, you sure that’s a good idea, Duh--"

“Always with the questioning and the doubting lately,” the other man scolded. “When you gonna learn that I know best?”

“Whatever you say.” Mister M dragged you behind him across a large yard, into a bigger house, up some stairs, through some double doors, and into a bedroom.

“Stay here,” Mister M instructed. “If you want to keep your organs on the inside, don’t try anything stupid.” He left and closed the doors behind him.

You did not know what to do or what to think. You were too scared to move. The smallest amount of moonlight filtered in through a window. You moved to it and gazed out, but couldn’t see much of anything. You wondered what would happen to you and if anyone would come for you. Everything seemed bleak.

* * *

Some time later, a slightly taller man appeared through the double doors. You strained your eyes but could not tell who it was. However you were certain it was not Mister M.

“What’s your name, miss?” The voice was almost gentle.

You watched as the man lit a small lantern atop a nightstand. As the flame grew you were able to observe him and the room.

The bedroom seemed almost as large as the room you had been staying in at your uncle’s house, but not nearly as up kept as the details of the furniture and walls you could see seemed worn and weathered. On one wall, there was another single door, a desk, and two tall windows with faded red curtains. On the furthest wall was a fireplace bordered by a door on either side. A green arm chair blocked one exit. The interior wall had a large bed and two night stands. There were a few crates scattered about.

The man with the deep voice was dressed in mostly black with a red vest. As you watched him from where you stood still soaking wet, he removed his black jacket, hat, and pulled the red cloth away from his face. Before turning to you again, he set everything aside neatly. He watched you.

Unable to find your voice, you crossed your arms over your chest and shivered. You looked at the man again. He reminded you of your father; tall, fit, and handsome with curly black hair and a mustache. He looked a bit younger than your father though, but you could not be sure. Save for your tutors, instructors, and little bit of family, you had not exactly been around many men or people for that matter.

Your mind raced as his eyes wandered over you. Mister M had said they were bad men. Bad men did bad things to young women no doubt.

“Miss?” He tried again.

You watched as he rested his hands on his gun belt. The threat from Mister M about keeping your organs on the inside terrified you. You shut your eyes tightly, clasped your hands together, and prayed.

“Miss.”

You open your eyes at his interruption. He walked toward you slowly with his hands raised. If that supposed to calm you, I didn’t.

“You speak English?”

Still not trusting your voice, you nodded.

“Good.” He bent down and rummaged through a crate, before holding a blanket out to you. “We weren’t sure if you did. That feller in your house did not it seems.”

He was talking about your uncle, Niccolo Ferrari.

You nodded and took the blanket. You wrapped it around your soaked night clothes and looked back at the man in front of you. He did not seem nearly as threatening as Mister M.

“Go ahead and sit, miss.” He stepped away from you and gestured to the large bed.

You did. It made noise and gave a bit when you sat down. You pulled the blanket closer around your shoulders. You watched the man and considered what may happen if he was moved to violence.

“We don’t mean you no harm,” he said and offered a smile. “There’s some clothes in that trunk over there. Help yourself." He paused for a moment. "You rest here for a few hours. We can…figure things out tomorrow.” After everything, his kindness seemed odd to you.

You nodded and watched him leave and shut the doors behind him. You were too scared to try any of the doors. Any of his men could be standing there ready to shoot you or worse.

You only considered trying to escape for just a moment. It seemed a poor choice in such weather without light. You had not any shoes or warm clothing and did not think you could get far even with a horse, which you did not even know how to ride.

You rose from the bed, which creaked. You opened the trunk and grabbed a white collared shirt that sat on top. You hesitated for only a moment before letting your wet night gown and undergarments hit the floor. You used the stale smelling blanket to dry you tan skin and long dark hair as best you could.

Once dry, you pulled the white dress shirt over your shoulders and buttoned it until your breast was covered. The shirt was large and comfortable enough. Despite your worried mind, you settled onto the large bed and soon fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want, let me know what you think! :)


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the kidnapping...

The sound of creaking wood and a knock woke you. The room was light with the sun. You sat up to see the man with the deep voice entering the room. Quickly, you were sure that all of your skin below your neckline was covered from his view.

“Good morning, miss,” he greeted. He held out a metal cup to you, which you took.

“Thank you, sir.” You held the warm cup in both hands and looked up at him.

“You’re welcome.” He almost laughed as you wrinkled your nose as you smelled the black liquid. “I’m afraid we are out of cream and sugar at the moment.” You could see amusement in his dark eyes.

You shrugged and took a sip. It was bitter.

“What’s your name, miss?”

You took another drink and set the coffee on a nightstand as you considered your options again. You stood no chance against him. Even if you did get past him, Mister M and the others were surely around.

“Ferrari,” you responded. “Maria Ferrari.”

“Well, Miss Ferrari.” He sat down at the end of the bed. It creaked under his weight. “I understand these circumstances ain’t ideal, but it’s nice to meet you.”

You could imagine your tutors having a fit at your silence for not reciprocating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to lie in this instance. You took the coffee cup back up and drank the rest of it as he watched you. This man was strange. They had just kidnapped you after all.

“I’m Dutch van der Linde.” He leaned toward you slightly and extended his hand to you.

You hesitated but then grasped his hand, allowing the blanket to fall away from your chest. “Mister van der Linde,” you greeted. His hand was a bit rough but warm. His grasp was tender.

He smiled at you again and you could not help but think of how handsome he was. His jaw line was something else. He held your hand while he spoke. His brown eyes boring into your own.

“The man in the house...your father I presume?”

“My Uncle Niccolo,” you confirmed softly. You felt tears well in your eyes as you thought of him. “Is he…?” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word.

“Dead? No, he ain’t,” Mister van der Linde soothed. “I can assure you he will be just fine.”

“Thank God!” Tears of relief streamed down your face. Mister van der Linde surprised you when he pulled you to him. You surprised yourself when you offered no resistance. He held you cradled in his lap and against his chest.

You face reddened at how improper this was. You, a single girl, wearing nothing more than someone else's dress shirt, was on a man's you didn’t know lap and in his embrace sobbing.

“It's all right, Miss Ferrari.” He held you close with one hand rubbing circles on your back. His other hand was resting on your bare thigh. “We won’t hurt you. _I_ won’t hurt you.”

“What about Mister M?” You asked in between sobs.

“I can assure you that Mister Morgan will not touch a hair on your head.” He sounded so sure. You wanted to believe him. “These boys—these men outside this room are a part of a gang—my gang. They are loyal to me. You have nothing to fear while you are here with us.”

You wanted to ask if you could leave. You wanted to ask what they wanted with you, but you could not bring yourself to just yet.

You felt yourself calming down as he continued to rub your back and hold you close. You inhaled deeply. The man smelled of tobacco and something stronger. You did not know what. It was almost comforting as your father often smelled of tobacco.

“What now, Mister van der Linde?” Your voice was shaky to your own ears. You kept your face against his chest. You were embarrassed for your behavior and the improper situation.

“That’s up to you, miss.” His voice was like velvet. You could listen to him speak all day. “As you’ve figured, we are bad men, but we don’t hurt or kill unnecessarily. We went to your uncle's house to rob him. There was a change of plans…” He let his words trail off.

“We will offer you back in exchange for something valuable.” He paused and released his hold of you. Reluctantly you removed yourself from his lap and sat next to him. “Where are your folks?”

“Father is away on business for the remainder of the year, sir. I know not where he went for certain.” You paused as you thought of your mother. Guilt surfaced. “My mother died shortly after I was born.”

“No siblings? Cousins?”

You shook your head.

“What does your father do for a living?”

“It's not a lady's place to know of a man's business,” you explained. “But I know father and Uncle Niccolo are in the iron industry.”

“What’s your father's name?”

“Bartolo Ferrari,” you answered. You hoped this man wouldn’t use any of this information for nefarious purposes, but you had your doubts. They were bad men after all.

Mister van der Linde was silent for a moment. You shifted nervously and ran your fingers through your dark hair. Only after the man's hand had been on your thigh, had you noticed how the dress shirt you wore was quite the opposite of modest. You father would not be happy. Pink tinged your cheeks once more.

“Tell me about your uncle, miss.”

“Yes, sir. Uncle Niccolo is from the old country. He does not speak English so well. He has no living children or wife. We’ve lived in Saint Denis as long as I’ve known. He and father have been in the iron industry since before I can remember. I believe Uncle Niccolo is more in charge than father as he is the elder brother and has the bigger house.”

Mister Van der Linde chuckled. It was a rich sound.

“Do you know about their wealth, then?" He seemed so intrigued; eager. "Is it in bonds? Notes? Gold? Assets?”

“Other than that they have it? No, sir. As I said before, it’s not a lady's place.”

“I suppose it’s not.” He seemed disappointed, but smirked. “They got money and that’s a start.”

You didn’t like the fact that this man may extort your father and uncle by using you. It felt dirty and wrong, but what could you do? Mister van der Linde had a whole gang of _bad_ men.

He made a move to rise from the bed, but before he did he squeezed your bare knee and smiled at you.

“Don’t worry, Miss Ferrari. This will all be over before you know it.” He stood and made his way to leave, but stopped. “Is it safe to assume that you can read and write Italian as well?”

“Yes, sir. _Sì_.”

“Very good. I’ll send one of the girls up with something for you to wear momentarily. You’ll join me later this afternoon.” He disappeared through the doors.

You found yourself pondering many things such as Mister Van der Linde's interest in your family, him robbing your uncle, being taken—

There was a light knock.

“Come in…?” If felt so weird saying that.

“Hi,” a young black woman greeted you. “This is for you.” She made her way over to you and placed the items onto the foot of the bed. She quickly made her way to leave. “When you’re dressed..." She gestured to the door.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. She left just as hurriedly as she came. You doubt she heard you. She had not even made eye contact with you as she spoke. You assumed she was a servant or maid of some kind to Mister van der Linde.

This was going to be the first time in a long time that you would have to dress yourself as you always had ladies to do that sort of thing for you. You looked at the clothing—a simple green dress and leather shoes. They weren’t new or of the quality you were use to, but you supposed they would do.

Suddenly, you were thankful the dress was not too complicated or layered. But most of all, you were thankful for no corset, but then again, your only undergarments were soiled from the rain. You’d never gone without underwear or a bra before. This whole ordeal was against anything you’d ever learned or knew to be proper. It was beginning to get even more clear to you that things would be far from proper for now on.

You sighed as you removed the white dress shirt and draped it over the bed. You fumbled with pulling the dress over your head and pulled on the leather shoes. You felt strange in the clothing. It was nothing like you’d never worn in your entire life and did not fit quite right. You ran your fingers through your hair in an attempt to look more presentable. You wished you could bathe, brush your teeth, and apply powder and such, but it was apparent you would not be afforded that normalcy here.

After taking several moments to compose yourself as best you could, you slowly opened one of the double doors and stepped into a smaller seating area with a gramophone. You eyed a small metal box and ledger, several chairs and a loveseat for a moment. Everything in this room had seen better days as well.

You shook your thoughts of your uncle and father from your mind and opened yet another door.

There was a man seated in the hallway, leaning back in a chair with his dark colored cowboy hat pulled down over his face. He looked asleep to you. You stepped outside the bedroom. The small click as you closed the door caused him to look up at you.

“Hey there, miss,” he grumbled as he stretched and cracked his neck. Immediately, you knew that voice.

“Mister M,” you greeted. You stayed where you were with your back to the door you had just exited.

“Name's Morgan,” he drawled. “Arthur Morgan.”

This man looked at lot different without his jacket and face uncovered. In addition to his dark cowboy hat, he wore a stained blue shirt rolled at the arms, working pants, and worn leather boots. Your eyes lingered on the two guns hanging at his hips. You thought of when he had one pressed to your skin and threatened your life. You shivered.

You met his blues eyes. His expression seemed to be kind enough. He looked a bit younger than Mister van der Linde. He had a short beard growing on his chin and cheeks.

Another handsome man you thought to yourself. You shook your head at the thought. What was wrong with you? These were bad men.

“Ain’t you gonna introduce yourself?” He asked. Unlike Mister van der Linde, he seemed impatient.

“I’m sorry, Mister Morgan,” you apologized. You wrung your hands on the fabric of the barrowed dress. “My name is Maria Ferrari.” You curtsied as you had learned to do when meeting new people.

“Nice to met ya, Miss Ferrari.” He looked amused for some reason.

You found yourself smiling at his pronunciation of your surname. Every word the man uttered seemed a grunt and a bit lazy. You wondered where his accent was from. New Austin, perhaps.

“Hey, new girl!” A busty blonde woman appeared near Mister Morgan with a basket of garments. “Go get your dirty clothes. We got laundry need doing and I swear if that Miss Grimshaw gets in my face one more time this morning...”

That women’s outburst startled you. She was so loud. You quickly retreated into the large bedroom and grabbed your clothes. After a moment of hesitation, you grabbed Mister van der Linde's discarded hat, jacket, and other discarded items from the floor. You felt it was the least you could do after he had showed you kindness. Perhaps it would even keep you on his good side.

When you reappeared in the hallway, Mister Morgan was standing and chatting with the blonde woman who you witnessed punch Mister Morgan's arm. Your mouth hung open at the exchange in front of you. Surely, a lady shouldn’t act that way. Mister Morgan seemed amused by it all in the same as he rubbed his limb and grinned.

“Karen,” he acknowledged the blonde woman. Then, he turned your way. “Miss Ferrari.” He dipped his hat at you both then made his way down the hallway, out of your sight.

“Hello, miss,” you greeted the other woman.

“Yeah, yeah. Hi to you, lady.” Karen stepped forward and had you place the clothing you held in the basket she held then pushed the basket into your arms. “Follow me.” She sounded so unenthusiastic, but you complied.

You followed her down some stairs and out the front door of what you could now recognize as old plantation house. It had seen better days.

Once outside, you saw that a large camp had been set up with tents, wagons, and two fires. You saw more women and men moving about. It was a strange collection of people. You saw different ages and races. Even a boy! So this is a gang, you thought. It seemed odd.

“Dutch never got Molly to do his laundry,” Karen commented as she sat down next to two other women on the ground. They had several large tubs of water surrounding them.

“Excuse me?” You didn’t understand what she was getting at. The laundry basket was heavy in your arms.

“It all makes sense now though,” Karen said as she pulled the basket out of your arms and started to divvy up the soiled clothing among the other women, one of who you recognized as the black woman who brought you the dress and shoes. “Little ol' you breaking them up and all.”

You hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

“Karen!” The other white girl next to her with curly light brown hair exclaimed. “I heard Mr. Williamson telling Mr. Bell that they found her unplanned like on that Saint Denis job.”

“Nah, you know that Bill don’t know shit. Drunkard his is and all.” Karen shook her head. “She and Dutch are totally bumping uglies.”

“Excuse me?” Your face reddened at the accusation and the vulgarity the woman used.

“She came out of his room this morning! The walk of shame, girls! C’mon!”

“Regardless, I don’t think so,” the black woman spoke up. “She don’t look like his type.”

“Ya know, you might be right, Tilly.” Karen chuckled. She looked at you. “You’re too tan, I reckon. He likes them pretty n' skinny white girls like Mary Beth here.”

Tilly laughed behind her hand.

“Oh, Karen!” Mary Beth held her hand over her mouth as her cheeks flushed. “Stop it!”

“Don’t act like he don’t be hitting on you either!” Karen pointed an accusing finger at the other woman. “I heard what he was saying about your silly romance novels. Ain’t you just special.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Mary Beth defended. “He’s only ever been nice to me.”

“I never!” All of the women quieted immediately and turned their attention to an older woman who held a stern expression on her face and hands on her hips. “Such lazy and busy mouthed girls you all are! Get to work! Don’t make me say it again.” She wagged a disapproving finger at all of you and then excused herself as there was some shouting and commotion elsewhere within the camp.

You watched after her and looked at the other girls.

“Don’t worry. She’ll be fine,” Karen sighed at you as she and the other girls began washing clothes. “Old hag.”

“She’s always like that with us,” Tilly added.

Mary Beth nodded in agreement. Color lingered in her cheeks.

You sat on the ground with them unsure what to do. Their comments about Mister van der Linde troubled you greatly. You weren’t sure why.

After a long moment, it finally occurred to you that you had never actually washed anything in your life.

“Could you please show me how to…?”

“You serious?” Karen asked.

“I am, Miss Karen.”

“You gotta be pulling my leg!” The blonde laughed.

Your face reddened.

“I think she means it,” Tilly offered with a shrug.

“Dammit!” Karen exclaimed. Her volume and curse made you wince. “I knew you was too pretty to know how to work! Come here.” Although you were a bit offended, you obeyed. “Pay attention, ‘cause I’m only showing you once. Just do what I do, ok?”

You nodded and watched as she laundered a shirt.

“So what's you name anyway?” Karen seemed much more talkative than the other two who continued to wash close in silence, keeping their eyes adverted from you.

“Maria Ferarri.” You pushed your dark hair behind your shoulder and began to launder a pair of trousers.

“That’s fancy.”

You nodded unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

“Ya know,” Karen started. “If you were really Dutch's girl, you wouldn’t be down here doing chores with us.”

Again, you didn’t know what to say, so you just nodded and continued to keep your hands busy. You never knew how difficult it could be to clean something. You thought back to all the clothing you had dirtied as a child and felt bad for your servants.

“Don’t talk much, huh?” Karen asked.

“I’m sorry, Miss Karen.” You looked up at her. “I suppose I’m shocked is all. I never thought I’d be taken from my home—my uncle's house…and well…doing such a task with the likes of you three ladies.”

“Yeah, well. As long as you’re here expect to do such tasks with such company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	3. Hardly Improper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some chores, some talk, and some frustrations...

For the rest of the morning, you laundered clothes and hung them up to dry. Karen and the other girls sang some rather inappropriate songs while the chores went on. The older lady had yelled at the girls several times more. You weren’t really sure what to make of it all, but it made you uncomfortable to say the least.

After a short coffee break, you and the other women were mending clothing. They were surprised that you knew how to do that. You were thankful in that moment that you had learned such a task.

After a while, Mister Morgan came walking over to where you and the other ladies sat.

“Ladies,” he greeted with a small smile and a dip if his hat. You preferred this Mister Morgan greatly over the one who had threatened you and stole you from your uncle's home. “Miss Ferrari, come with me.”

You couldn’t drop the garment you were mending fast enough.

“Oh, c'mon!” Karen exclaimed as you followed Mister Morgan.

“What you think?” he asked as he walked with you across the camp.

“About what exactly, Mister Morgan?” You nearly ran into his back as he stopped suddenly by a small dock and bank. "I don't quite understand."

“I don’t know…this place? Us? What we is.” He sat down on a fallen log and gestured for you to sit next to him.

“Well,” you started as you joined him. “I’m not so sure yet, sir. I’ve only been here less than a whole day.” You made sure to cross your legs as a lady would when wearing such a dress. “Doing laundry wasn’t as difficult as I thought.”

“Sure.” He ran a hand through his short brown hair before replacing his hat back on his head. “So, what were you doing at your uncle's?”

“My Uncle Niccolo takes responsibility for me when my father is away on business. I was to finish up my lessons while I stayed with him for the remainder of the year.” You looked at the man sitting to your left every so often. He seemed deep in thought.

“What kind of lessons?” He asked.

“Etiquette, history, and language.”

“Etiquette?”

“Yes, how a lady should act and speak—wifely duties and the like, Mister Morgan,” you answered as you pushed your dark hair behind you shoulder.

“Wifely duties.” He smirked. “You fixin' to get married soon?”

“My father will arrange the event this upcoming spring.” You looked over at the man. He seemed intrigued so you continued. “Well, after he picks a suitable husband for me.”

Arthur said nothing for a moment but raised a brow as he looked at you. “How old are you anyway?”

“It’s considered rude to ask a lady her age, Mister Morgan.”

“Well, excuse me then, Miss Ferrari.” He adverted his gaze to the muddy swamp water just beyond the dock. You did, too.

All of the giant reptiles in the water and on the land only cemented in your mind that trying to run was a bad idea.

“Seventeen.”

“Huh?”

“I’m seventeen.” You repeated as you watched a alligator push off of the bank and disappear into the swampy water.

“You ready to be married off then, miss?” He looked at you again and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I suppose.” You shrugged.

“Really?”

“Yes, I guess so. I’ve only been prepared for it my whole life.” You stretched your legs out in front of you. “All the teaching and lessons have equipped me to be a proper wife to a proper husband.”

“Hm.” He seemed to be deep in thought again.

“If I may, sir,” you started as you turned to him. “I’m curious why you wanted me to follow you?”

“Dutch wanted me to check on you is all.” He shrugged.

“Mister van der Linde?”

“Yeah, him. Mister Van der Linde.” He chuckled.

“What is so humorous?” You didn’t understand.

“How you is so proper.” He smiled. “Calling me—us mister and sir. You don’t need to do that here. We ain’t exactly proper folks.”

“It is to show respect, sir,” you defended.

“We ain’t exactly respectable people, miss.” He laughed again.

“I am.”

“Oh, I can see that.” He teased.

“What would you have me do then, Mister Morgan?” You felt slightly irritated at him then, but that laugh and smile made it hard to be. He was something to look at for certain.

“For starters, call me Arthur.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t as it is considered most inappropriate. I don’t know you in that regard, sir.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“What if we were friends?”

You laughed then.

“What’s so funny?

“A single lady can’t be friends with a single man. That’s absurd.” You laughed again.

“Fine, fine.” He said in a defeated tone. “You win…for now.” He smiled again.

“Forgive me, but I prefer you like this,” you quipped.

“Like what?” He raised his brow again.

“Like this.” You gestured to him. “Our other interaction…I’d rather forget it.”

“Yeah, well…I’m sorry about that.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “That was just business.”

“This isn’t?” It felt so easy talking to him.

“Nah, not entirely.” He shrugged. “I’ll admit I was quite curious about you. We didn’t know you was gonna be there and I ain’t exactly met such a proper lady before.” He teased you again, but you didn’t mind. As long as he kept smiling like that, you might let him tease you all day.

“You flatter me,” you teased back. “I’m curious about you, too.”

“What you mean?”

“I’ve never been kidnapped before.”

He looked serious for a moment before you laughed and he did to. That laugh. You wished you could bottle it up.

“I hate to interrupt.” You recognized that voice. You both turned to see Mister van der Linde standing behind you two with his hands on his hips and a disapproving look on his face.

“Sorry, Dutch. We was just talking.” Arthur stood and looked to the ground. You stood too and looked between the two men.

“I can see that, son.” He looked over at you with an intensity that made you extremely uncomfortable. “Miss Ferrari, come with me.”

“Yes, sir." You looked at Arthur apologetically before you turned to follow the man he called Dutch.

He led you into the house, through the foyer, and to what you presumed to be a living area. In the Center of the room, he seated himself at a table that had a map and several other papers spread about it.

“Miss.” He gestured for you to sit on the desk just beside him. You obeyed, being sure to cross your ankles and laid your hands in your lap.

For a long while, you watched him sift through the papers, scanning and reading. Every so often he made a few notes on a separate paper. He said nothing—didn’t even look at you.

You figured you must have upset him somehow.

The way he furrowed his brow from time to time while he read only solidified the fact that he reminded you of your handsome father when he was most disappointed in you. You smiled as you continued to watch him.

“Do you like him?” Dutch continued to pour over the documents as he spoke. He tone was flat.

“Mister Morgan?”

“Mhm.” He wrote something on the spare paper.

You thought for a moment. “He's…all right for a bad man.” You smirked.

He didn’t say anything.

“Is he really your son, Mister van der Linde?”

“Sure.” He looked at you then. “Why do you ask?”

“His surname is different, I don’t see a resemblance, and you two look nearly the same age,” you answered honestly. You fidgeted your hands in your lap.

“Observant aren’t you, miss?” He raised an brow at you just as Mister Morgan had.

You shrugged and held his gaze and couldn’t help but notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward as he smiled.

“Not all family is blood. These men, my boys, are all like sons to me—like brothers.” He placed the papers down and turned to you. He was so close, but it did not frighten you. “I’d die for them. Any one of them.”

“You care for them greatly.”

“I do.”

“Who's Molly?” You couldn’t help yourself. You were going to ask Mister Morgan before he had interrupted.

“Who told you about her?” His smirk faded. You could instantly tell that was a sore spot.

“Miss Karen.”

“Figures…that girl has a mouth on her.”

You nodded in agreement.

“Anyway, I want you to write a letter to your uncle in his language—your language for me.” He took a pen and paper out of the desk and set it in front of him. He scooted his chair back away from the desk.

“Yes, sir.” You stared at him, waiting for him to get up so you could sit and get started.

“Come here, Miss Ferrari.” He held his hand out you.

“Mister van der Linde…” You cheeks flushed as you understood. “I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can,” he soothed. “You’ve already sat in my lap. How is this any different?”

You pondered that for a moment. He was right, but that had been different. You had been upset and he comforted you. You looked down at your hands. Then, back at him. No one from your life back in Saint Denis was her to judge you and he seemed a benevolent being in that moment.

Wordlessly, you took his hand. He smiled and pulled you down into his lap. After Karen's comments earlier in the day, you were a bit concerned.

Those thoughts soon faded as Mister van der Linde placed the pen in your hand, his fingers lingering a bit on your own. His voice was velvet as he articulated what he wanted contained in the letter. His breath tickled your ear. You felt the rough stubble from his face on the side of you neck as his arms were folded around your waist.

Certainly, this was the most improper thing you had ever done, but a part of you didn’t care about that or even that you were kidnapped by these men at that moment. These people you did not know gave you more notice that you had ever gotten and you craved it.

The attention you were getting from Mister Van der Linde was making it incredibly difficult for you to concentrate at the task at hand, but it was perhaps the most undivided attention you had ever received from another person.

When you felt his mustache and lips on your neck, you gasped and caused an ugly striation on the paper. He chuckled.

“Am I distracting you?” _That voice._

“Yes," you admitted as color flushed your cheeks. You were thankful he couldn’t see. “Very much so, Mister van der Linde.”

“I’m sorry, dear.” He chuckled again.

“I’ll have to start over.” You frowned and held the paper up so he could see.

“That’s just fine, miss.” You felt his breath on your ear again. “I have all the time in the world.”

The way he said that made goose bumps pimple your skin. You hadn’t felt like that before. You did your best to ignore the strange feelings and Mister van der Linde's close proximity and continued on as best you could.

“It's finished,” you exclaimed and held the paper up so he could see.

“Very good,” he purred in your ear. “I trust you.” He tightened his arms around your waist and pressed the side of his face into your neck. “I know you didn’t stray from what I said to write.”

You gasped again, but closed your eyes. “Mister Van der Linde!”

“Am I wrong to trust you, Miss Ferrari?” You felt his lips move against your neck as he spoke. “Hm?”

“You are not wrong, sir,” you somehow managed under your duress.

“Very good.” You felt him smile. “Do you trust me?”

“Should I?” You challenged.

He laughed.

“Forgive me, Dutch, but we’ve got a situation outside,” an older gray haired man said as he burst into the room. His brown eyes flitted to you. “Dear, if you’d excuse us.”

“Oh! Of course." Heat flushed to your cheeks again. You made a move to get up, but the man called Dutch held you firmly in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having fun. Are you?


	4. An Eventful Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight, a talk with Arthur...

“What is it, Hosea?” Mister van der Linde asked as cool as could be.

The other man looked at you for a moment before he spoke. “The girls are in some kind of fight.”

“When aren’t they?” Mister van der Linde seemed uninterested in the older man's words as he kept his tight hold on you and glanced at the letter you had written.

You felt extremely uncomfortable…as if you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t be and the older man's eyes only confirmed it.

“Molly and Karen are at it...again.”

“Shit.” Without giving you a second glance, Dutch quickly removed you from his lap and followed the older man outside.

Unsure of what to do you hesitated for a moment, but your curiosity got the best of you. Mostly, you were curious about this Molly that Karen had mentioned earlier in the day. You hadn’t exactly seen a fight before. That may prove to be interesting as well.

You could hear the confrontation before you saw it.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” The voice was heavy with some type of unflattering accent.

“What was I supposed to have said, hm?” Karen retorted. “Hm?

“I know what you’ve been saying about me! All of you, laughing at me! I know it.” The other woman shrieked.

You heard the sound of a slap.

“Damn you!”

You quickened your pace as the sound of another slap cut through the air.

“You better be careful before you hit me again, you goddamn moron!” Karen yelled.

You halted your steps just behind a wagon while Karen and her audience stood around the campfire. You caught a glimpse of a red haired woman walking away quickly, holding her face.

“Dutch or no Dutch, you’ll be up there playing harp with the angels before sundown, you hear me?” Karen stared after the red haired woman you assumed to be Molly. Karen turned her attention to everyone else. There was a red hand print on her left cheek. “What you lookin' at?” She yelled before taking off in the opposite direction.

You were hidden from most of the people standing around. You watched as they slowly dissolved back into whatever it was they were doing. The silver haired gentleman walked off shaking his head, muttering something under his breath. Dutch stood there for a long moment with his arms crossed, his back to you.

Dutch muttered a curse to himself before he walked off, but to your surprise, not in the direction of either woman.

Arthur caught your eye and made his way to you.

“Don’t worry about them,” he offered as he joined you where you stood.

“What happened?” You thought back to Karen's comments from earlier in the day and wondered if this was your fault.

“Well…” Arthur shrugged. “Molly don’t exactly get along with everybody and Karen ain’t one to take any shit. So…could have been anything.”

“This is a regular occurrence then?” Your curiosity was peaked.

“Ehhh…lately—somewhat I suppose.” He walked away and gestured for you to follow.

“Mister Morgan?” You questioned as he led you far from the camp and toward the tree line.

“Miss Ferrari.” He stopped and stared into your eyes with his sweet baby blues as he leaned back on a tree with his arms crossed. You almost wanted to look away for the sheer danger of your own thoughts.

“What happens now?” You weren’t sure what you were asking, but felt the need to fill the silence.

“I don’t know.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered you one, which you politely declined. Your father had always told you it wasn’t a habit suited for a lady.

You both stood in silence for a while as he smoked and stared off. You weren’t sure what to do with yourself so you looked off in the distance, too.

You figured you must be pretty far from Saint Denis, but you really couldn’t be sure. Last night was a blur in your mind. The scenery was the same regardless of where you looked: ugly trees, swamp, alligators, more muddy water, and more alligators.

“So…uh, you like living in Saint Denis then?” He lit a second cigarette.

“I suppose so, yes.” You answered. “I don’t have anything to compare it to though.”

“What do you mean?” He looked at you as he took a long drag.

“I haven’t lived or been anywhere beyond the city.”

“Really?” He seemed surprised. You nodded. “I thought all rich folks went gallivanting around the country spending all their money and such.”

“Not I, Mister Morgan.” You laughed. “Actually, I don’t own a cent or much of anything at all.” He furrowed his brow, which encouraged you to continue as he smoked. “Everything belongs to my father and Uncle Niccolo. I won’t be worth anything until I am married. That’s how it works in the world I’m from. Daughters are trained to hopefully marry into beneficial marriages for both parties so a large dowry won’t be necessary. Financial gain and power are most desirable.”

“Huh.” He discarded his spent cigarette. “Gettin' dark. You tired?”

“No, sir.”

He sighed and stared back out at the swamp.

“Is something wrong?” His demeanor had you worried.

“Things is changing."

“I’m sorry?”

When he met your gaze he looked troubled. “I’m worried about them.” He gestured back to the camp. “Things ain’t been good for a long time. Hell, we’ve been running for a while now and losing folks along the way.” He looked away from you. “Dutch always goes on about faith, loyalty, and freedom, but when I think about it…how we was, how things is going, and how they are now…I can't see nothing good coming out of this. The world don’t want us no more.” He sighed. “Don’t let me burden you.”

“It’s quite all right, Mister Morgan.”

“No, it ain’t. I’m sorry for taking up your time.” Before you could say another word, He turned from you and walked off.

You had it in your head to follow him, but decided against it. You father had told you that sometimes men needed to be alone to think through things. Maybe that’s what Mister Morgan needed.

Unsure of what to do next, you looked back to the camp and could see two separate fires burning. Silhouettes bordered each. The house seemed dark with the exception of a lantern glowing from the room you had stayed in—Mister Van der Linde's room.

You thought about what Mister Morgan confided in you. However vague, it was clear he thought something bad was going to happen. You hoped you wouldn’t be around for when it did.

You thought about the letter Mister van der Linde had you write. Heat crept into your cheeks. You were glad you were alone. You felt ashamed for how he had made you feel. It wasn’t right, but you had enjoyed it. You father would be so angry if he knew. Guilt took over.

All in all, the letter was simple enough. It informed your uncle and father that you were in the gang's possession, that you were unharmed for the time being, that they wanted twenty thousand dollars for you release, not to involve the law or else, and they had a week to respond to an alias of the gang.

You couldn’t be sure how your father and uncle would react. Something like this had never happened before. You just hoped that no one would get killed on either side. These bad men, didn’t seem all that bad, but then again what did you know? You’d only spent just under a day with them.

As the light began to fade even more, you made your way back to the camp. You glanced around but didn’t see any faces you knew. Most people had already seemed to turn in for the night. Those that had not sat around the larger of the two fires in silence while one man played a guitar.

Intrigued by the music, you sat down nearest to him. You’d never heard anything like that. You closed your eyes as you listened. You opened them when the song ended.

“ _Bravissimo_ ,” you exclaimed as you clapped your hands together and looked at the man. “That was lovely. _Bravo_!”

“ _Gracias._ ” He nodded at you and placed his guitar aside and stood. “ _Buenas noches, senorita_.”

“ _Buona notte, signore_ ,” you responded. You watched after him as he walked off toward some tents.

You recognized him as the one who’s accent you couldn’t place during the so called robbery. You understood it now as Spanish. You had learned enough to know that it was so similar to Italian that you were able to understand him…mostly.

You looked around the fire to see only two remaining bodies besides your own. One was an much older bearded man who looked to be slouched and passed out on the ground with a bottle in his hand.

The other sat directly across from you doing nothing particularly. He held your gaze as you tried to study the details of him. You couldn’t make out much except for his lengthy hair and mustaches.

“Hello there, little lady.” He broke the silence.

“Hello, Mister…?”

“Bell.” He snorted and then spit. “Micah Bell, at your service.” He lifted his hat and sat it back on his head. “See anything you like?” His words caught you off guard.

“Um, I’m sorry?” Embarrassment flooded your cheeks.

“I saw you staring,” he drawled. “Figured you liked something.” When you didn’t answer he continued. “Maybe you only got eyes for Morgan then? Seen you both talking.” He flustered you fiercely.

"I think you are mistaken, sir." You forced a smile.

"Nah. Don't think I am." He smirked back at you. "A girl like you don't belong out here with us degenerates."

"It's not exactly my choosing," you responded. Unable to look him in the eye any longer, you stared into the fire.

"That aside, folks here don't take too kindly too rich folk. Watch your back, girl." You didn't know if he meant it as a genuine warning or as a threat.

“Please excuse me, Mister Bell.” You stood. “Goodnight.”

He made a dissatisfied sound from deep in his chest. “See you around…”

Something about that man made you feel slimy—dirty even, but maybe he wasn’t wrong about—no! You forced the thoughts from your head. These were your captors.

Quietly, you made your way through the house and up the stairs. You hesitated for a moment outside of the double doors of Mister van der Linde's room. You wondered if he was in there—if he was in there with Molly. You shook your head. What was wrong with you?

You knocked once.

“Come in.”

You did.

“Good evening, Mister van der Linde.” You greeted. He stood on the other side of the room in the open doorway that led to the balcony. His back was to you with a cigar in his hand.

“’Evening, Miss Ferrari.” His voice sounded different. It lacked emotion.

You stepped into the room and sat on the bed. After the strangeness of the day's events, you weren’t sure how to proceed. So there you sat with your hands folded in your lap, watching him.

“An associate of mine will post that letter to your uncle tomorrow.” He paused. “Then we wait.”

“Yes, sir.” You didn’t know what else to say, but you knew it was appropriate to acknowledge him.

In silence, you watched him finish off his cigar. Before making his exit, he stepped into the room and regarded you with those dark eyes of his.

“Goodnight, Miss.” He called over his shoulder.

Of all the strict lessons and learning you received over your seventeen years, nothing had ever prepared you for such things. You pondered what your father would think if he knew what had happened and what you had done.

Surely, he wouldn’t be pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the beginning that I may alter events of the story so slight to fit my agenda. So, yeah. There's that.


	5. Those Thoughts, Again

“Miss, I ain’t asking. I’m telling!” Miss Grimshaw scolded as she waved her finger at you. “Go help Mister Pearson.”

“But—”

“My camp. My rules.” She cut you off. You watched the sternness in her face. You were certain she wanted to strike you.

Already, you’d seen her hit Mary Beth today. You so badly wanted to correct her that this was Dutch's camp, as he had told you the first night, but that seemed a poor choice at the moment. You wondered why Dutch kept such an awful woman in his employ.

“Yes, ma'am.” You fixated your eyes to the ground. You feared she would take your continued eye contact as a challenge. After witnessing what happened between Molly and Karen…

“Go on then,” she urged.

“I’m sorry, Miss Grimshaw,” you mumbled as you slowly made your way to the cook's wagon.

“Miss Farrow, is it?” The portly fellow asked as he proceeded to hack the head of a rabbit off nonchalantly. You flinched at the sound of metal severing bone and felt as though you'd be sick.

"Ferarri, sir," you corrected as you swallowed your nausea.

"They call me Pearson, but you can call me Simon." He grinned as he wiped the rabbits blood on his apron and then held out his hand to you. "I'm the camp cook!"

"Hello, Mr. Pearson." You hesitantly shook his hand. "How may I help?"

"Nothing too difficult." He gestured for you to stand beside him. "We will prepare today's stew." He rifled through several sacks and boxes. Then, laid out several varieties of vegetables in front of you. "Peel these and then cut 'em up and we’all add them to the pot!"

"I haven't done this before, mister," you admitted.

"Ok then..." He looked at you for a moment. "Do as I do." He demonstrated both tasks. It was easy enough.

Time passed agonizingly slow as you readied the vegetables. Your hands felt awkward with the task. You even managed to nick yourself a few times with the small knife. Mr. Pearson seemed jolly enough. He did his best to entertain you with stories of his time in the Navy.

"Mister Morgan!" Pearson's exclamation startled you. You nicked your hand, but turned to see Arthur approaching with a doe slung over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all.

"Mr. Pearson," Arthur grunted. He set the deer down on the butcher table. "How'd I do?"

"This should keep the people happy and well fed." Pearson starting the skinning process. You had to look away. "That said, I think we'll be ok."

"Sure," Arthur agreed. "You ok, Miss Ferrari?"

"Yes, sir." You continued to look away and busied your hands. You glanced their way to see Arthur making his way to you as Pearson continued dressing the meat.

"You hurt?" He asked as you clutched your hand to your chest.

"I'm fine.” You continued to stare off as the blood from the carcass met your nose. The coppery smell was too much. "I'm going to be sick."

Without missing a beat, Arthur quickly ushered you to the edge of the camp. Before he could ask if you were ok a second time, you wretched. He moved your dark hair behind your shoulder. After you had composed yourself, you stood there embarrassed.

"Thank you," you mumbled as you stared at the swampy scenery.

"I felt similar when I field dressed my first rabbit," he offered. "Didn't puke though."

"Is that meant to comfort me, Mister Morgan?"

"I suppose not." He frowned and turned away. "Well, I best get back to it."

"Wait." You called after him.

"Miss?" He looked at you quizzically. You held his gaze. You weren't sure what you were doing.

However, you understood that Mister Morgan held enough standing amongst the gang that Miss Grimshaw may leave you be if you were in his company. After _that_ , you didn't think you could return to help Mr. Pearson.

"Would you mind looking at my hand, please?" It was a good excuse as any.

"Sure." He stepped up to you. His gaze was heavy as he regarded you. He held his hand out to you. Hesitantly at first, you placed your injured hand into his. His hand was warm and calloused, but his touch gentle as he examined the nicks from your inexperienced vegetable peeling.

"Looks to be shallow. Be sure to keep it clean, miss."

You nodded as he pulled out a cloth from his satchel and bandaged your hand.

"Thank you, Arthur." You offered him a smile as you addressed him by his first name.

"'O course, Miss Ferrari." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I should be gettin' on," he mumbled.

"May I accompany you?"

"Where I'm goin' ain't no place for lady."

"I understand, Mister Morgan," you responded with disappointment plastered on your face. He tipped his hat at you and walked off. You stared after him until he disappeared from view.

“ _Hola, señorita_ ,” a familiar voice purred from behind you.

“ _Hola, señor_.” You responded tastefully in the other man's language.

“You know _Español, chica bonita_?” The man smirked. You thought his mustaches, tanned skin, and charm made him quite handsome, too.

“ _Un poco_ ,” you replied. “Just a little.”

“Javier Escuella at your service.”

“Maria Ferrari.” You held out your hand to him. He brushed his lips against your knuckles.

“How do you like it in _la casa grande_ with--"

“Javier, leave the girl alone!” The voice held contempt. “Pretty sure this high class lady ain’t into greasers!”

“Excuse me?” Mister Escuella turned toward the advancing man.

“Why don’t you fuck off back to Mexico!” The blonde man with the handle bar mustache interrupted, pointing his hands in the other's face.

Without skipping a beat, Javier punched Mister Bell square in the nose. “Why don’t you fuck off back to hell!” The crunching sound made you wince and feel sick all over again.

“Yeah, yeah…” Mister Bell stood up slowly, holding his injured face. “You hit like you dress…all feminine!” Both men stalked off in different directions leaving you alone.

The continuous violence in the gang was making you feel less safe—distressed, anxious even. Oh, how you wished to return to your life in that instant. You missed you father.

But, you shook off your fright as best as you could and went off to find the other girls.

You spent the remainder of the day, washing laundry and patching the men's clothing in the company of Mary Beth, Karen, and Tilly. None of them said much as Miss Grimshaw seemed extra strict and angry as the day went on.

Karen told you it was the anniversary of her infamous break up. With who, you didn’t know. They didn’t say. You didn’t ask.

* * *

As afternoon turned into evening, you grabbed a bowl of stew and settled alone at the scout camp fire. The day had been an emotional roller coaster. Between the fighting men and the squabbling women, you just didn't feel safe anymore. Oh, how you longed for the safety of your home and father. You wondered if your Uncle Niccolo had received the letter yet.

Just after your third bite, Arthur Morgan road into camp. You watched him hitch and untack his steed quickly. His body language seemed irritated. You continued to eat and watch him as he interacted with a few folks within the camp. It seemed that he had some words with Mister van der Linde.

"Miss Ferrari."

"Mister Morgan," you greeted as he sat down next to you on the ground with his own bowl of stew.

"How's your hand?" Arthur asked in between spoonfuls.

"I'm all right," you replied as you continued to indulge in your food.

The two of you ate in silence. Arthur inhaled his food, finishing quickly.

As he tipped his hat at you and went to walk off, you don't know what possessed you when you grabbed his hand.

Obviously, it startled him. "Miss Ferrari?" He stared at you, questioning with his blue eyes.

"Mister Morgan..." Your voice trailed off as you continued to hold his rough, but warm hand in your grasp. You stared into his blue eyes and swore that all of the sadness in the entire world swam in them. It made your heart ache.

"I--I--" You couldn't find your voice. Utterly, you were distraught with the overwhelming need to share it.

"Come with me," Arthur whispered as if he understood. His grip tightened so slightly on your hand. You nodded and allowed him to pull you off into the wooded area.

After some time, he stopped and turned to face you, while still holding your hand. His expression seemed pained. His eyes almost bleary.

Without another word, you pulled him into a hug. He offered no resistance as he buried his face against your neck and wrapped his arms around your waist. He trembled against you and it broke your heart to see someone so distraught. Especially such a strong, handsome man.

Those thoughts again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked it...lemme know what you think!


End file.
